


Ice Cream Boys

by Arenoptara



Series: The Baseball AU [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Baseball, Attempted Murder, Gen, Ice Cream, M/M, Obama is pissed at Marco, bike racing, mild homophobia, sixth grade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 19:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1523354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arenoptara/pseuds/Arenoptara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean Kirschtein meets new kid Marco Bodt who becomes his new best friend despite Hitch's evil attempts at ruining their lives.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ice Cream Boys

**Author's Note:**

> Aside from Batting for Boys. How Jean and Marco met. :)

Marco was the new kid in the neighborhood. They dubbed him Freckles the first day he moved in. Jean didn't really care. He didn't even care when his parents dragged him along to the neighborhood party. His neighborhood was weird like that, always finding the smallest reasons to go to the park and eat food and play games. And new neighbors were always a reason. Jean tagged along when all the kids herded Freckles towards the frisbee golf course. Jean hated frisbee golf. He watched from the sidelines, a baseball mitt in one hand, throwing a ball in the air and then catching it.

Halfway through the course, after Marco had done his turn, he wandered over to where Jean was sitting by a drinking fountain to get a drink. Jean pretended not to notice him, instead focusing on his baseball. There was a game in a few days. If this stupid party hadn't been going on, he could have been practicing. He was the best pitcher and his team was counting on him. If the coach found out he was instead sitting here watching a bunch of idiots play the hella boring game that was frisbee golf, he'd never hear the end of it.

Marco had other plans. When he turned, wiping his mouth the back of his hand, he spotted Jean and smiled. “Hey!”

“Hey,” Jean said unenthusiastically, throwing the ball higher.

“My name's Marco,” Freckles said. He _did_ have a lot of them. Probably more than any other human ever to walk the planet in its whole fifteen billion years or however old it was. If Jean colored them red, he'd look like he had chicken pox.

He threw the ball again and listened to the satisfying smack as it landed in the black leather of his glove. He pretended as if he glanced over and remembered that Marco was still standing there. “I'm Kirschtein.”

Marco blinked. “Your parents really named you that?”

“No,” Jean said with a smirk. “That's my last name. My first name's Jean.”

“Is that French?” Marco asked with a smile.

Jean looked away. The kid had a really bright smile. He was too happy. “Oui.”

“That's yes, right?”

Jean stared out at nothing, making a stupid impatient face. He threw the ball up again. “Yes.”

Marco looked out at the kids on the field. One of them was still trying to get the frisbee in the goal, and it was his seventh throw. The kid honestly could not play the game. His body wasn't made to throw frisbees. Or probably anything. Marco bit his lip as he watched, feeling sorry for the kid, it looked like.

“What grade you in?” Marco asked.

“Sixth.”

“Hey, me too! Who's your teacher?” Marco asked excitedly, his eyes lighting up.

 _Calm down. It ain't the Fourth of July yet,_ Jean thought. “Mrs. Crabtree.”

“Oh.” Freckles' shoulders sagged. “I have Ms. Ivy.”

That made Jean smile. “She's the best teacher in the whole grade. You're lucky.”

“Really?” Marco tilted his head to the side.

The other kids called his name, because the last kid had finally gotten the frisbee in the damn basket and they were moving on to the next one. Good. Jean could go back to the peace and quiet, and his one-on-one time with the baseball. His best friend, really. Maybe it was sad he didn't have a best friend or any close friends at all, really, but that was okay as long as he could play baseball. As long as he could throw it, feel its texture in his hands, see the fear in the eyes of the batters whenever he threw them a submarine pitch. He threw the ball again.

“You play for the school baseball team? Maybe I'll come see you in a game!” Marco said.

The ball missed his glove, hitting the grass, and the rolling away down the shallow hill. Jean watched its every move. It settled at the base of an ugly pine tree.

The kids called Marco's name again. “Sorry,” he said. “I'll talk to you later! See ya!” He waved and jogged off towards them.

Jean looked after him, fist pounding into his glove. He got up slowly and trudged down the hill. He balanced on one leg, swinging the other in the air, as he bent down and snatched his ball up out of the filth. He rubbed it a few times on his jeans until it was clean.

Lest Marco come talk to him again, Jean went back to the pavilion to eat another burger. His mom asked why he wasn't playing with the other kids, but Jean ignored her and sat on the corner of the very end table, silently eating his burger, thinking about the game in a few days.

–

It shouldn't have surprised him that Marco was actually there, in the stands. But it did. And the fact that Jean noticed. He'd all but forgotten about Freckles until he arrived at the field, and his mind flitted to those couple of minutes when Marco had tried to engage in small talk and Jean had tried to deflect. Now Marco was with his parents and one of Jean's enemies: Hitch Gunnison. She was a vicious little brat he'd one had the misfortune of playing with. The coach had kicked her off the team last year, but she still attended every game, always cheering for the other team, no matter who they may be.

 _Why is she sitting next to Freckles?_ Jean thought with a hiss. He kicked his foot into the dirt. _Going to corrupt another unfortunate soul._

“What's wrong with you?” one of his teammates asked.

Jean turned his cap around, the bill out the back. “Nothing.” He pushed past them and headed to the bullpen to warm up. Even from there, he could hear Hitch give an obnoxiously loud laugh. When he looked over she had her hand on Marco's knee, and Marco was smiling at her in that I'm-unsure-I-should-really-be-smiling-at-this-joke way. Jean threw the ball particularly hard, and the catcher cried out in annoyance.

“What was that, man?” he grumbled, tossing the ball back.

“Focus, Kirschtein,” the bullpen coach said. “You're just warming up now. Let the other team have the hard balls.”

But Hitch laughed again—out of the corner of his eye, he could see her leaning into Marco, eyes closed, busting a gut. And Jean threw another fast ball. The catcher stood up and threw it back as hard as he could. Jean caught it easily, but it didn't sting like the catcher had hoped. Not only was he a terrible thrower, but Jean was immune to such things. At least, at this level.

“Kirschtein,” the coach warned.

Jean forced himself to zone Hitch out and focus on warming up.

When the announcer spoke up, the team got ready. Every time the guy said one of their names, there was Hitch, booing them. And Marco looking very uncomfortable. When Jean's name was called, she just laughed, like he wasn't worth her time to boo. His face got all red and he glared at her. It got worse when Jean's mom stood up and told Hitch to control herself or get out. Jean flipped his cap around for the soul purpose of hiding his face.

The anthem started and a teammate elbowed him in the side. He quickly took off his hat and placed it over his heart.

It all went downhill from there. Jean wasn't in his right mind. The ball just didn't feel right. The pitching coach switched him out after two innings. In the dugout, Jean flicked his hat off and threw it as hard as he could at the bench. Then he sat down, crossed his legs, sat in a slouch, and watched the other inferior pitcher go up to the plate and do a smashing job. Ever so often, his eyes would sneak a glance at Hitch and Marco. Her hand was still on his knee. _Disgusting,_ he thought. Marco was too into the game now to notice, leaning forward, eyes wide, mouth open.

 _I wonder if he can play._ Jean scrutinized the boy—height, weight—and decided that Marco could probably make a good in-fielder. He had fast reflexes. Now if he could throw well and run as fast as his mind could think, he'd be a great baseball player.

The inning ended, and Jean's favorite catcher came and lightly kicked him in the shoe playfully. “What the hell's wrong with you? Seriously?”

“If your mother could hear you now,” Jean grumbled.

The catcher kicked again, harder this time. “As if you don't swear too!”

“I swear more eloquently than you. You probably don't know what that means.”

“Fuck you, man.”

“Whoa, language! Another offense and you're suspended. And I'll tell your mother,” the manager said, walking up and pointing a finger at the catcher. He looked at Jean and knelt down. “Anything the matter? Anything I can help with?”

“Just not in the zone today, coach,” Jean mumbled, picking at his glove.

The manager's head bobbed up and down. “Well, if you need anything, just ask, all right? That's what I'm here for, buddy.” He slapped him on the arm and then turned to give the team a little uplifting spiel before they went on offense.

The center fielder of his team, Sasha Blaus, stopped by to grab her water bottle and chug the whole thing down. “Jean, don't worry about it, okay? We all have bad days. You had to have one eventually, right?” She ran some fingers through her ponytail, getting out all the damp knots that had formed in the hot sunshine and warm breeze.

Jean just shrugged.

“Blaus, you're on deck,” the manager called.

She winked at him. “I'll do good enough for both of us!”

And she did. She got a triple, with one RBI. The next inning she got two RBIs. It was like the universe had sucked away all his power and instead given it to her. She didn't even strike out once the entire time. And because of her they pulled ahead in the bottom of the sixth and stayed on top the whole way.

“All those potatoes you ate really paid off,” Jean told her afterward.

“Dude, I'm not as obsessed about potatoes as you all think. That was that _one_ party. Sheesh!” She opened a new water bottle and dumped it on Jean's head. Then the team dumped all the Gatorade on her and she started chasing one of the players around the field while her parents called her name, trying desperately to rein her in so they could talk to her and congratulate her.

Jean trudged over to the stands, to his parents. They had that look on their faces, like they were sad, maybe a little disappointed, but wanted to still seem happy so he wouldn't feel bad. His mom hugged him, one he didn't return. His dad held up a hand for a high five, and to save the old man some embarrassment, Jean high fived him. As they were talking, his eyes wandered over to where Hitch and Marco's families were chatting animatedly about the game. They listened to Hitch with round eyes. Jean gritted his teeth and then looked back at his parents.

“Okay, Jeanny?” his mom said.

“Okay,” he said, even though he had no idea what he was saying okay to.

Both his parent's eyebrows raised. They had probably expected a fight.

On the way to the car, Jean passed Marco and Hitch. Hitch gave him a dirty look, but Marco waved, a big smile on his face. _Why is he so happy all the time?_ he wondered. He didn't wave back or smile or even give Hitch a nasty look back. He just stared, expressionless. As soon as he looked away, Hitch started whispering something hastily to Marco, and he heard a gasp. _What is she telling him?!_

–

It turned out he had agreed to give throwing lessons to his cousin. She was like four. Apparently, they said it would be a good distraction from the stress of the last game, and a chance for him to still work on baseball without all that weight pressing on his shoulders. The next day they went to the park, and Jean helped his cousin put on her glove. She laughed and smacked him with it. With a sigh, he began the tutorial.

Of course, ten minutes into practicing, she threw the ball and it smacked someone right in the stomach. Freckles. He had been walking up. Jean ran over and grabbed the ball, muttering apologies.

“No, it's okay,” Marco said, patting his stomach. He looked over Jean's shoulder to the little cousin and waved. She squealed and said hello. She loved meeting new people, and the whole freckles thing probably got her excited. Their grandpa had freckles, and many times Jean had seen her play connect-the-dots on his face. Now she was meeting a new canvas.

“Watch out or your face will never be the same again,” Jean said.

“What?” Marco blinked.

“Never mind.” Jean looked over at his cousin. “We're going to take a break. Go play on the swings or something.”

“Push me!” she screamed, throwing the glove into the air and then running full blast towards the playground.

Jean sighed and walked over to the glove, picking it up.

“I'll push her if you don't want to,” Marco offered. “I like little kids.”

“You like little kids,” Jean repeated, as if he couldn't believe someone, especially twelve years old like him, could say something like that. “What's wrong with you?”

Marco laughed. “I just like kids. I have a little sister, too.”

“That's not my sister,” Jean said. “My cousin. By all means, push her on the swing.” She was calling at Jean to get his butt over there before she started crying. “Really, you are four years old!” Jean complained and headed over there, Marco on his heels.

“I saw you at the baseball game!” Marco said casually.

“Great,” Jean snorted. He hopped into the sandy playground and walked over to the swings, sitting down in the one beside his cousin. She was about to complain, but when she saw Marco coming to push her, she wiggled her feet in the air and rattled the chains of the swing.

Marco got behind her and took the swing, pulling it back and as high as he could hold it. “Are you ready?”

“YESSS!!!” She pointed into the air. “LET HER RIP!!”

He let go of the swing, giving it an extra push, and she went soaring up into the air, laughing hysterically. Every time she came down, Marco gave her another huge push. Once they settled into a rhythm, Marco continued off where they'd stopped.

“Do you have to try out?” Marco asked. “I was thinking of joining if it's not too late.”

“You don't have to try out,” Jean said. “It's only elementary school baseball. But if you don't have any skills, the coach will kick you out first day. Better not to make an idiot outta yourself.”

Marco wiggled his nose in thought. “I think I'm okay. I've always wanted to play on a baseball team. But back in Florida, Little League was too expensive, and my school didn't have a team. Is it free here?”

“It's like ten bucks or something. I don't know. I let my parents worry about it.” Jean kicked the ground a little so he started swinging the tiniest bit. Every time it threatened to stop, he gave a small kick again. Meanwhile, the cousin was ripping through the air, going higher each time. “So why were you talking with Hitch?”

“Huh? Oh, that girl at the game? She's my next door neighbor. I asked her if she knew when the game was because I saw her playing catch in her backyard. She's . . . she's . . . interesting,” Marco finished, slight fear in his eyes.

Jean snorted. “If by interesting you mean stupid, then yeah, she's way interesting. She used to play on our team but the coach kicked her off. Now she just comes to games and jeers at us.”

“She talked about you,” Marco said.

His head whipped over. “What did she say?”

Marco's eyes widened. “Oh, she just said you . . . I think she meant it as an insult . . . she said that you were gay. I think that means happy, but I think she meant the other gay. You know, that you like boys or whatever.”

“Of course she said that,” Jean said, rolling his eyes.

Marco blinked too many times. “I don't want to be rude or anything . . .”

“What?”

“I don't know. Was she right?”

Jean glared at him. “I don't know. I'm twelve. I don't got time to worry about that shit. Baseball's more important than girls or boys or any of that lovey dovey crap. It's all nasty, actually. I'm married to baseball. I always will be.”

Marco smiled. “Sounds serious.”

“You bet it is. Don't tell your parents I said shit. They'll probably tell mine and then I'll get grounded.”

“I won't tell,” Marco said. He gave the cousin one last push and then went to sit in the swing on the other side of Jean. He twisted it to face Jean and rested his cheek against one of the chains, a little smile on his face. “My first day of school is tomorrow. Do you walk?”

“No, I ride my bike.” Jean pulled a pack of gum out of his back pocket and took out a piece. He glanced at Marco and then offered it to him. Marco shook his head. “Take a piece of gum. You got that look in your eyes.” He narrowed his eyes. “Don't tell me, your parents said not to accept food from friends or some shit like that.”

Marco shrugged. “Kind of. My parents don't want me to impose on other people. I think it has something to do with how we don't have a lot of money, or whatever. I don't know. They just tell me and I do it.”

“Take a piece of gum, Freckles,” Jean said, shaking it in his head. “No, you know what, take the whole damn pack.” 

He tossed it over and Marco barely managed to catch it. “The whole thing?” he said quietly, looking at it like he'd never held a whole pack in his hands. It was that look that made Jean's jaw drop and he decided right then and there that every month he knew Marco Bodt he would buy him a pack of gum. He watched as Marco opened it and pulled out a piece, unwrapping it really slowly, and then setting it on his tongue. His eyes closed as he began chewing, the initial burst of flavor overwhelming his mouth.

Jean smiled. 

He hid it when Marco opened his eyes again. “Thanks.” Carefully, he closed the pack and put it in his pocket. “I have a bike,” he said. “We could ride to school together.”

“You live like five streets away from me,” Jean said.

“We could meet here,” Marco said. “Huh? I don't want to have to go with Hitch. I mean, she's not bad, I would just rather . . .” He bit his lip.

Jean laughed. “All right. To save you from Hitch.”

“Hey!” the cousin shouted. “PUSH ME. I'M SLOWING DOWN.”

Marco jumped to his feet and hopped to it, laughing the whole time.

–

The next morning, Marco was already there, watching the sun as it fully emerged from the horizon, casting yellow spikes into the sky. He looked over when Jean rode up and waved. Jean had never seen someone look so happy being awake so early. Was there anything that got the boy down? Jean pulled up beside him and then stood up on his pedals.

“Let's have a race,” Jean challenged. He put his cap on backwards so it wouldn't get caught in the wind and blow off. “First one to the school has to buy the other ice cream at lunch.”

Marco's eyes got huge. “You guys sell ice cream at lunch time?”

“What? Your school didn't? Back in Florida or whatever?”

He shook his head. “No. We got vegetables, milk, and enchiladas mostly. Sometimes stroganoff.”

Jean shuddered. “Gross. The government tried to turn our school into a Communist society, too, but they failed. You can buy ice cream or peanut butter bars or even soda.”

“How much is ice cream?” Marco asked, eyes worried.

That's right. He wasn't exactly stuffed with money. Jean needed to find something to say that wouldn't make Marco feel bad. Calling off the race or saying he would buy ice cream for them no matter what would make the guy feel useless or something probably. Jean didn't want to do anything to make him unhappy, because happiness like Freckles had, that was hard to come by. Jean had to protect him from the dark forces of the universe.

But just then the voice of his nemesis called out to them. Hitch rode up on her own fancy schmancy bike. “Hey Marco. Hey Jean.” Her eyes gave him an unimpressed up-down. “You should give up, Jean. I don't think he floats in the same creaky leaking boat as yours.”

Jean's hands tightened on the handle bars. “Fuck off, Hitch.”

“Ooh, language, Jean. You wouldn't want your mother knowing you told a girl to do such a nasty thing.” She stuck out a tongue and then laughed. “No need to associate yourself with someone so rude, Marco. Ride to school with me.”

Marco's face got all red. “Uh . . . well, I . . .”

“He promised to ride with me,” Jean snapped. “Besides, he's joining the baseball team. We're going to be team mates.”

Hitch made a disgusted face. “I hope you two are happy together!” She flipped them off and then continued on down the street.

“Are all the kids like you two?” Marco asked.

Jean sat back on his bike. “First off, me and _Hitch_ are nothing alike, so no, not all the kids are like us. A lot of the kids swear, if that's what you mean. Not in front of the adults, though. That will get you into detention.” He used his feet to walk the bike closer to Marco. “You don't look like someone who's ever been in detention.”

“I've been suspended,” Marco said.

Jean's jaw dropped and he leaned forward. “What?!”

Marco laughed uncertainly. “Yeah, well there was this kid bullying a girl and I punched him and got suspended.”

His face screwed up in anger. “Bullshit.”

But Marco just shrugged. “I didn't mind. He never bullied her again. That's all that mattered.”

“Well goddamn. Look how righteous you are, Freckles,” Jean said. He steered his bike to face ahead. “We going to race? Maybe we'll beat Hitch there.”

“Oh yeah, the race,” Marco said, worry entering his face again.

“You can pay up anytime,” Jean decided. “No rush.”

Marco smiled. “Okay. I'm ready.”

Without waiting for a countdown, Jean burst forward, legs pumping as hard as they could. Behind him, Marco started late, caught by surprise. But boy did Freckles have powerful legs. In no time at all he had caught up with Jean, maybe a foot or two behind him. Jean's face was tensed in determination, sweat soaking into his hairline. When he glanced back, Marco was always grinning and just staring ahead like he saw Disneyland up there. No sweat. Just sunshine.

Both of them passed Hitch easily, breezing by her so fast she had no time to say anything rude. They both turned the corner together, and that's where Marco overtook Jean, pulling ahead by a yard or two. Jean, panting, pushed even harder. But no matter how hard he tried, Marco always hovered in the lead, his legs moving that bike over the asphalt like it was a road of frictionless silk.

The school came into view. This was it. A minute was all Jean had to take the lead. His legs were burning. If he looked down they would probably be literally on fire. His torso came down even more, trying to cut down on wind resistance, chin hovering above the bars. But Marco reached the school ground first and threw his hands in the air with a victorious whoop.

Jean slid a stop beside him, trying to gulp in air.

“You owe me ice cream!” Marco said, poking him in the arm. He hopped off his bike and walked it to the bike rack.

Jean kind of melted off of his. At least he wasn't on fire. But his jelly legs could barely walk the bike to the rack, and his fingers, tired from clutching the handles so tightly, had forgotten how to do their thing. He spent a full minute trying lock his bike in place.

“You okay?” Marco asked when Jean finally got it.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he muttered.

“See you at lunch?”

 _That's right. We don't have the same teacher._ Jean blinked. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Ice cream.”

–

Marco liked chocolate the best. Jean got him two scoops on a sugar cone, and got all warm and fuzzy inside when Marco stared at it like it was the pyramids in Egypt. They sat across from each other at lunch, in the outside part under the pavilion. Some other kids sat with them, mostly to be with Marco. He didn't talk much, though. Too entranced with his ice cream cone. Sasha said a joke and Marco laughed so hard his ice cream ran into his nose, covering the tip with chocolate.

“You got . . . you got chocolate on your nose,” Jean said, pointing. He picked up a napkin and handed it over.

It was adorable, Marco going all cross-eyed as he wiped it off.

Someone came by with a potato on their tray. “Hey, Sasha, got something for you.” She was all smiles until she saw it was a potato, and then she started chasing him into the parking lot. The other kids left to go watch the spectacle. They were all so easily entertained. Jean was just fine sitting there as Marco licked his ice cream cone. He was kind of a puppy dog when Jean thought about it. Those big brown eyes, the freckles, the nose. He'd probably been a dog in a previous life.

Hitch walked by, gave them a snooty look, and kept going.

“I don't want her to hate me,” Marco said, the light in his eyes dying a little.

“She hates everyone,” Jean said. “Really. Just ignore her.” _I will_ not _let her kill Sunshine Freckles. I_ won't. He slapped his hands on the table, making Marco start. So Marco didn't know what he was thinking, Jean said the first thing that came to mind, “Do you want your green beans?” he asked fiercely.

“Uh . . . you can have them,” Marco said, nudging his tray over.

Jean hated green beans. He hated green beans more than ketchup-covered chocolate chip cookies—he had had them before, yes. But he took that tray, and he picked up his fork, and he ferociously ate every last green bean there. All the while, Marco watched him from behind the ice cream cone, barely containing a laugh. When he finished, Jean pushed the tray away and declared, “Delicious!”

–

It became their thing to race to school every day. And every day they had the same bet. It was good for Marco because he always won. Jean basically used his allowance solely on buying the boy ice cream. After school, though Marco wanted to race, Jean insisted they take it easy. School was tiring. And once Marco joined the baseball team—he could play baseball, that boy, and the manager made him short stop—they needed their energy to practice baseball.

It was so much better than practicing alone. Jean could actually throw the ball to someone, and Marco could help Jean with batting even though Jean never had to. That's what the designated hitter was for. But even though he failed kind of miserably, Jean didn't feel embarrassed about it. It was hard to feel embarrassed with Marco. Either it was his infectious genuine happiness or because Jean didn't care much if it was Marco seeing him screw up. Anyone else, yeah, he'd get all pissy like he usually did. But not with Marco. Marco was like a sedative.

Afterward, they sat on the grass, leaning against the backstop, eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches they made in the mornings not for lunch, but for this very purpose. Jean's mom made fantastic PB&J, so she made two for the both of them, throwing in a banana for healthiness, though Jean always gave them to Marco because he had an aversion to the things. There was just something not right about them.

Every day, Hitch would ride by on her way from school and see them practicing. Eventually she stopped calling out to them, choosing to ignore them. It was like heaven on Earth.

–

Until May rolled around. Jean went to their usual seat outside, but Marco wasn't there. No one was. Everyone was looking at him, pointing and covering their mouths. His ears got all hot and he tried to ignore them, focusing all his energy on eating his lunch. But in the corner of his eye, he saw the ice cream cone he'd bought Marco for that morning's race—stuck into one of the holes of the latticed table—slowly melting as the minutes passed. His tray grew empty. Sticky streams of chocolate ran their way down the cone onto the brown plastic-coated table.

He threw his tray away and just stood there by the trash can. Maybe Marco was sick. He started eating the cone himself, but then felt traitorous, so he tossed it in after the Styrofoam tray. Sasha came up and poked him on the shoulder.

“What?” he asked irritably.

Sasha folded her arms. “Do you know what Hitch did?”

Jean sighed. “No. What? Is that why everyone's staring at me?”

Her head nodded solemnly. “Hitch told everyone that you like boys.”

“Everyone?” Jean's eyes widened in horror. “But I don’t. I don't.” His hands curled into fists.

Sasha lifted her eyebrows.

“Don't look at me like that,” Jean snapped. “Where's Marco?”

She looked away for a second to prepare herself. “So . . . Hitch told the teachers and the teachers called your parents. And I don't know, maybe they told Marco's parents, because they pulled Marco out of class today for some _unknown_ reason. Like you're going to eat him or something. It's stupid. But I guess your parents don't care—like in a good way—cuz they haven't pulled you out.”

Jean grew kind of weak, his legs giving out. Sasha had to grab his arm and keep him. “Whoa, Jean, it's not as bad as it seems.”

“How isn't it?” he shouted, pushing her away.

Sasha put her hands up, eyes huge. “Calm down, Jean.”

“Don't tell me to calm down!” Jean turned and headed to the front of the school, to the bike rack where Marco's bike was missing. He unlocked his, got on, and sped away to the park on the other side of town. His bike slide to a stop on the grass and he threw himself off, letting the bike fall to the ground. Jean walked to the grass by the pitcher's mound and just lay down there, eyes closed, the sunshine turning his eyelids red.

He started crying. Frustrated, angry. That Hitch would tell everyone a big fat lie—well, it could be the truth, but the fact that she had done with the malicious intent to make everyone think something was wrong with him. He didn't want to have to worry about boys and girls and shit. That was for later, when he was older, when it mattered. When he could take judgmental people better. Now he'd get lectures from his teachers, probably an invitation to the counselor's office. And what about his parents?

Jean turned over on his side. He had left his backpack at the school. It had his baseball and mitt in there. His hand lay open, wishing it could hold that ball, maybe throw it against Hitch's window a few times—a few hundred times. He could do it. He could break her window. And he wouldn't give a fuck when her parents got mad, or his, because Hitch deserved a lot worse than a broken window. What was the point . . .

It was dark when he went home. His mom was there alone, and she got up, crying, to hug him, muttering about how she thought he'd done something rash. Jean hugged her back and told her he was sorry. She knelt down at took his face in her hands. “I love you no matter what, Jeanny. Okay?”

“Okay,” he whispered. 

“The school called and I told them not to worry about it. There's nothing to worry about anyway.” She smiled through her tear-streaked face. “I need to call your father. He's out looking for you.”

“Where's Marco?” Jean asked.

His mom blinked. “I don't know.”

“He's my best friend. His parents took him out of school. They probably won't let me hang out with him anymore because they think I'll . . . I'll . . . I don't know. _Do_ something to him.” His bottom lip startled trembling, but he held back the tears. “I'm just me, mom. I'm just me.”

“I know, Jeanny. I know.” She hugged him again.

–

Marco wasn't there at the park with his bike. Jean waited thirty minutes, even knowing he'd be late for school. His teacher gave him a look but said nothing when he walked in. He couldn't concentrate on their discussion about _Hatchet_. He hadn't read it anyway. Nothing they said made sense. When the lunch bell rang he ran out to the lunch room, looking for any sign of Marco. He was taller than most kids, and the freckles stood out.

Instead he found Hitch, sitting with her friends. He stormed over there, and before she could say anything, he took her by the shirt, lifted her up and then raised an arm to punch her. Everyone gasped collectively. Someone grabbed his fist. He tried to jerk out, but their grip was iron. He looked back and his whole body relaxed when he saw Marco. As soon as his fingers loosened on Hitch's shirt, she slapped his hand away and sat back down.

Jean walked outside quickly, out by the dumpster where students weren't allowed to go. Just like he wanted, Marco followed him, though he stayed a few yards away. Like he was diseased or something. He didn't look happy. Jean sat on the ground by the dumpster.

“Jean,” Marco said softly. He hesitated, but then walked forward, sitting down in front of him, Indian style. “Jean.”

“Everyone thinks there's something wrong with me.”

“There's nothing wrong with you. Even if what Hitch said was true. There's nothing wrong with that. Not at all.” Marco wiggled his nose. “The world just hasn't caught on to that yet.”

Jean looked up at him, eyes hot and wet. “I don't want to worry about any of this. Why should I have to worry about it now? Why can't I just enjoy myself?”

“You can,” Marco insisted. He put a hand on Jean's shoe. “We're friends right?”

He gave him a wary look. “Don't your parents want you to stay away from me?”

Marco nodded his head slowly. “Yeah, but . . . you're my best friend. I mean, I never had a friend like you before, Jean. In Florida I was kind of a loner. Maybe my freckles turned people off or something.” He smiled. “And I love playing baseball with you. You're a good player.”

Jean cursed himself mentally when tears started seeping out of the corners of his eyes. He wiped them away aggressively.

“Nobody ever gave me a stick of gum before, let alone a whole pack,” Marco said with a chuckle. “And I don't think I've ever eaten so much ice cream in my life. I'm going to get fat because of you.”

“No. Because you bike it all off,” Jean mumbled. “Besides,” he said louder, “you're not going to win every race. I've been practicing when you're not around. You're going to be owing me ice creams real soon, Freckles.”

Marco laughed. “We'll see.” He got to his feet and held out a hand. Jean took it and Marco pulled him up. “And, hey, Jean? If by chance what Hitch said is right, and you do get married to a guy one day, invite me.”

His face burned and he probably looked like a moron. “Fine,” he muttered.

They came out of the dumpster area, going back to the cafeteria. As soon as they were in full sight of everyone, Marco suddenly grabbed Jean's hand. Everyone stared. Hitch glared. Marco started swinging their hands for fun, a pleasant smile on his face. And then loudly, so all those in the vicinity could hear, he said, “You ready for practice after school? We missed yesterday, so we got some stuff to catch up on.”

Jean just smiled.

–

The Bodts got real mad, but Jean's parents set them down and they had this big three hour long conversation while Jean and Marco were upstairs playing video games. Jean was cursing at him, and Marco was laughing so hard he started snorting. It was easy to forget what was going on downstairs when Marco was laughing. Then he wasn't just sunshine, he was the actual sun. This radiant ball of light. That's when Jean knew Marco would be his best friend for life. He just knew.

Later when the Bodts came upstairs to tell Marco it was time to go, they spent a few uncomfortable minutes apologizing to Jean, even though on the genuine-ness scale, it kind of rang down at a low three. Still, Jean shrugged his shoulders and accepted it. Marco gave him a high five and a wave and left with them.

Jean wanted to thank his parents, but it would be too embarrassing, so he just stayed locked up in his room trying to beat all the records Marco had just made in Super Smash Brothers Brawl. No matter how far he tried to hit that punching bag, he never got it as far as Marco had. So he gave up and ate half a carton of ice cream and fell asleep watching _Transformers_.

–

It got better as time went on. Eventually people either forgot about it or just didn't care. The faculty stopped trying to get him to go the counselor's office. Mrs. Crabtree stopped dropping metaphors so obviously pointed at him in her lessons, and she gave up on her after-class talks with him. He deflected everything she said with blunt snark and poor Mrs. Crabtree couldn't handle such things. Marco always waited for him out in the front, and listened to him complain about it all.

When baseball season ended—they never made it to regionals—they started racing home too. Because school was almost over, and they were bursting with summer energy. It all seemed so close, back to perfect. But Hitch had been waiting to strike again, and one week before school got out, she made her move.

They were racing back from home, and of course Marco was in the lead. They turned a corner and he was going so fast he didn't have time to dodge the ramp—the ones skateboarders used to do flips and shit. Marco bike went up the ramp, and he panicked, losing control. Jean watched in horror as his best friend and the bike went flying into a strategically placed basketball hoop. Marco's body smacked into the pole and then flopped down onto the asphalt. He lay there, unmoving, blood dripping from his head.

Jean leaped off his bike, letting it skid and fall to the ground, as he ran over to Marco, kneeling down and ripping the knees of his jeans on the asphalt. From the yard of the house they were in front of came laughing, and immediately Jean knew it was Hitch. She was bent over, standing behind a bush, clutching her stomach and laughing. It took all Jean's self control not to go over and there and kill her. There would be time for all that later.

“Marco? Marco?” Jean said frantically, shaking him. He turned him over onto his back. The blood was coming from a cut above his eye, and it wouldn't stop. Jean ripped off part of his sleeve and wrapped it around Marco's head. The blood seeped into it and saturated it within seconds. But it would have to do. Carefully, Jean put his arms under Marco's body and then lifted him up in the air.

He looked at the street signs. The medical clinic was about seven blocks away. He could carry Marco there. Or start there. “Call the hospital, Hitch!” But when he looked over, the little toad had am-scrayed. “Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. He carried Marco up to the door of the house and knocked. No one answered. Most people were off away at work. “Fuck, fuck,” he kept saying. When Marco started to slip, he readjusted his body so it curled into Jean, Marco's cheek against Jean's shoulder.

“All right, Marco, I'll take you to the clinic,” Jean said, gritting his teeth. Marco weighed a lot more than he looked.

Jean started towards the clinic, holding Marco tightly in his arms, the sun beating down on his back. If anything happened to Marco, the Bodts would probably blame him. It was just the excuse they needed to start hating him again. He couldn't have that. It was important to Marco to have his parents not hate Jean.

Blood started soaking through the shirt onto Jean's shoulder. It was warm and sticky, and it made Jean uncomfortable. His best friend was bleeding in his arms, and the clinic was still five blocks away. Where was everyone? No cars on the streets. Was everyone just specifically avoiding this place because somehow they knew Jean was there, and they didn't want to associate with someone who may happen to go against their messed up principles.

_No. I'm going crazy. Someone will show up. The whole population of the world can't have just disappeared all of a sudden._

So he kept going, three blocks, four, until at the fifth he collapsed to his knees. And just then a car came by. They stopped, the driver—a twenty-something year old woman—getting out and asking what was going on. Next thing Jean knew, she was picking up Marco and putting him in the back seat. Jean got to his feet and barely managed to make it to the passenger seat. He must have fallen asleep there because when he woke up he was sitting in a chair in the hallway of the clinic, his mom beside him.

The first thing he said was, “Marco?”

“He'll be okay, Jeanny,” his mom said, putting her hand over his.

Jean tried to get up. “I want to see him.”

But his mom held him down. “Later. He's with his parents right now.” She looked at him seriously. “Jean . . . how did this happen?”

Hitch's name popped up in his mind in flaming bleeding letters, but as much as Jean wanted to see her pay for the cruel revenge she'd played on them, he couldn't bring his mouth to say her name. She was just a stupid kid with nothing better to do than hurt people. Marco wouldn't go after her. Going after her would just keep the war going. “It . . . it was an accident,” Jean said, sinking back into the chair. “We weren't paying attention to where we were going is all.”

Half-true.

“Do you want a soda pop?” his mom asked offhand.

“No.”

“A candy bar?”

“No,” he said with an edge.

“Jean!” someone called down the hallway.

He sat up. It was Sasha, panting as she jogged down towards him, a backpack on her back, and one on her front. She took a second to catch her breath. And then she handed him his backpack. “What happened? Everyone okay? There's like a massive blood pile in the asphalt in front of the Stenner's home. I found your bikes there, and Hitch told me there was an accident.”

Jean hissed when she said Hitch's name, which did not go unnoticed by his mom, but she stayed quiet, letting the two have their moment. “He'll be fine. He just crashed his bike.”

Sasha let out a relieved breath and sat in the chair beside him. “I brought your guys' bikes over here.”

“Thanks.” He unzipped his pack and took out his baseball. It felt good to hold it in his hands.

“I'm going to go get something to eat,” Mrs. Kirschtein said. “Do you want anything, Sasha?”

“No, Mrs. Kirschtein, but thanks,” Sashsa said, holding up a hand.

Jean stayed quiet the next thirty minutes, just staring at the ball in his hand. Footsteps echoed in the hallway, and when he looked up, the Bodts were walking by on their way to the cafeteria, ignoring him, a doctor behind them. They kept going, but the doctor stopped in front of Jean and looked down through squinted eyes.

“Are you Mr. Kirschtein?” the doctor asked.

“Yeah.”

“Mr. Bodt is asking for you. He's in room 111.”

Jean didn't need to be told twice. He half-ran down the hallway, bursting into the room probably louder than he should have. But Marco wasn't asleep or anything. He was sitting up in bed, watching television. There were stitches above his eye, and his right arm was in a sling. Other than that he looked okay. When Jean walked in, he looked over and smiled.

“You okay?” Jean asked, tensed.

“Yeah. Just a broken arm,” Marco said. “Wouldn't be the first time.”

Jean slowly walked over to his bedside. “You sure?”

Marco's smile faded. “Yeah. Are _you_ okay, Jean? You're kind of pale.”

“I was just . . . I was just scared, is all.” Jean put his baseball on Marco's lap. “I'm glad you're okay.”

Marco's eyes glowed. “Perfect timing, though. We could have been playing baseball still. We could have been at regionals or state and I'd be out.” 

Jean let out a half-angry half-amused laugh. “Not even _I_ thought about that, Marco! It wouldn't have been as important. Thinking about it isn't even important at all. Just be glad you're all right, okay? You survived a murder attempt.”

“Murder attempt?” Marco blinked.

He didn't want to bring Hitch into it again. He brought a chair close to the bedside and sat down in it. “Yeah. The government hired a hit man. Apparently, you've been eating too much ice cream. You've committed a felony. The president's pissed.”

That got a laugh from Marco, his eyes all getting squinty as he laughed, dimples appearing on both of his freckled cheeks. “Is this your way of getting me to buy _you_ ice cream?”

“Maybe,” Jean said with a shrug.

“Hey!” Marco said so suddenly that Jean jumped, scared that actual assassins had jumped into the room. But they were still alone, and Marco was just excited. “My dad was in here. Once they got past all the lectures, he told me some big news.”

“Yeah? What?”

“He just got a job with a really big company,” Marco said. “They say it'll have really good benefits and pay and stuff. I don't really know all that, it's still kind of confusing, and I think they gave me some pain medicine so my head's all crazy, but . . . I don't know. It'll be really good. We didn't have much in Florida.”

“So you'll be able to afford buying me ice cream when I start winning?” Jean joked. But really, his insides were all fluffy and warm because Marco looked so happy right now. He'd almost been killed by the wild Hitch, and yet here he was, laughing and looking so relieved. And even though he hadn't wanted to think about of that shit until later when he was older, looking at Marco right now, Jean could definitely see himself dating this boy, and kissing this boy, and marrying this boy—when all that stuff wasn't gross, of course. Sure, why not? And Marco probably wasn't like Jean in that respect. He'd probably go off and marry a beautiful girl and have lots of kids—Jean could too—and it would be great because they would still be best friends.

“I'll be an old man by then,” Marco said.

Jean made a stupid face. “Ha ha, funny. Real funny, Marco.”

“That's why you love me!”

_Yes. Yes it is._


End file.
